Redemption
by Crimson Cupcake
Summary: :Post-Sunday: Lord Sunday had been too proud for redemption. But now that he is given another chance in the New Universe, he is forced to make a choice: whether to rebuild Creation once more or to let it come crashing down. :Multi, no pairings:
1. The Beginning

**A/N:** Finally, a KttK fic xD I've been meaning to write one for the past two weeks. Well, this came out of my desire to write Sunday and the dissatisfaction I had with the ending of the final book. So obviously there would be **spoilers**. And yes, this will be a multichapter, because I am currently way obsessed with the series at the moment. The title is subject to change and...I've rambled enough, no?

_Disclaimer (for probably the entire story so I don't have to keep repeating it): I have no need for this. How obvious is it that I'm not Garth Nix?_

* * *

He was standing on a hill.

Lord Sunday blinked, adjusting his eyes to the sudden light of the artificial sun.

Or at least, he assumed it was an artificial sun. There was no 'real' sun in the House, after all. Unless he wasn't really in the House, which would mean that he was in the Secondary Realms. But that didn't make much sense, because both the House and the Secondary Realms were _gone_. Gone because he had been defeated that stupid mortal brat.

He shook his head bitterly. He should have tried harder. He should have...he should have...

He should have told him the truth.

But it was too late now, which brought him back to his original problem. Where was _now_? If there was no House and no Secondary Realms and no Universe and no Creation, then this must be what happens after being consumed by Nothing.

But that wasn't possible either, because being consumed by Nothing meant you were dead. And you would not be able to be hallucinating or dreaming or imagining this place because dead Denizens do not come back to life and there is no afterlife that he knew of and Sunday was _not_ going to assume there is.

So he wasn't dead.

But how could he not be?

Lord Sunday decided to abandon the problem at hand and to take a look around first. His instinct, honed by millennia of being a Denizen, protested and nudged him in the direction of following his previous thoughts, but the former Lord of the Incomparable Gardens knew better than to pursue a problem when no answer could be found.

Instead, he followed an incredibly mortal-like logic – though it could hardly be considered logic and he would rarely stoop so low as to use their so-called 'common sense' anyway – and looked around.

And recognised his surroundings immediately.

He was standing on the Elysium. Or at least, it used to be Elysium. Now he was unsure what it was called, which brings him back to his problem—ah, but he was going to ignore that problem. Turning his mind away from such matters, he glanced at his surroundings from the vantage point, and was surprised to find grass. No trees, no flowers, no shrubs, none of his beautiful hedges, just grass, which spread for miles until it reached the horizon and evaded his sight.

Lips tightening disapprovingly, he switched his gaze to behind him. But it didn't matter—everywhere he looked, it was bland and green.

Even if this was the Elysium, this certainly weren't _his_ Incomparable Gardens.

But then he saw a figure, a black dot against the endless slivers of grass. The figure was approaching, and quickly – faster than he had ever seen anything move. When Lord Sunday was able to make out the Denizen, he frowned disapprovingly. It was not a Denizen, as he had first assumed. In fact, it was not even a mortal.

It was the Rightful Heir.

And yet at the same time it was not. He was much shorter, for one, almost..._mortal_-sized. His frown deepened. And he was much older too, and was certainly not wearing anything a Denizen in the House would be caught dead in.

The Heir landed and cautiously approached until he was 15 feet away, and then inclined his head slightly as a greeting of sorts.

"_You_," Sunday spat, eyes narrowing and trained on his movements. "What are you doing here? Where is this place?"

Ah, it was inevitable that he would return to his original question. He did not expect the Heir to answer, and was a little taken aback when he did.

"I am the New Architect," the Heir said calmly, "and this is the New Universe."

Sunday allowed himself another quick glance around him, and all thoughts about formerly telling the Heir the truth vanished from his mind. Surely the New Architect liked this power—he would most certainly have tried harder if he knew this was how it would end. Sunday was not going to give him the satisfaction of knowing beforehand. His decisions were right, after all.

"So?" he asked, when the New Architect did not elaborate. "What happened to the Old Architect? The original?"

"She..." The New Architect hesitated for a fraction, but seemed to gather up his courage. "Her Will is done."

That was the only explanation Lord Sunday received, but it was enough. "What are you going to do now?" he hissed. "Why bring me back at all? You're the New Architect, aren't you? You can create the Universe from scratch—create your own utopia. Why bother about me...or anyone else?" That was certainly what he would do if he had the chance.

The New Architect smiled. "I didn't want to," he said simply, and pulled out the _Compleat Atlas of the House and Immediate Environs_, almost as an explanation.

"So why bring me back?" Sunday asked, eyeing the Atlas almost hungrily as the New Architect placed it back into his pocket. "I'm your arch enemy, aren't I?"

"I thought you deserved another chance," the other replied. At Lord Sunday's cynical gaze, he sighed. "The Incomparable Gardens," the New Architect continued, "is the first place the Old Architect created. I would like it to remain as it was. And as the Atlas only details the Elysium a few seconds before its collapse, I would need someone who remembers the Gardens so I am able to create it as close as possible as the original."

Lord Sunday was silent, considering what the New Architect had said. "So you want me to describe what the Incomparable Gardens used to look like?"

The New Architect nodded. "I have Created the Incomparable Gardens, as you can see—" he gestured around him, "—and by doing that I have allowed myself to Create the Secondary Realms. However, I wish to return the Gardens to their previous state. And also," added the New Architect, surprising Sunday, "because you are an offspring from the Old Architect, and I wish to keep a little piece of her memory."

"Why should I?" Sunday asked. "Why should I help you?"

"Good question," the New Architect said. "I suppose you wouldn't count me recreating you as an answer." He sat down on the rock near the Elysium and began to think. A few minutes passed in silence before the New Architect made up his mind. "I have it," he said suddenly, standing back up. "If I allow you to remain in charge of the Incomparable Gardens, will you help me recreate them?"

"How can I tend to my garden without my Key?" Lord Sunday snapped.

The New Architect shrugged. "You have heard my offer," he said coldly. "As for your Times, I will create new ones for you. I was never fond of the green things in the first place."

Sunday scowled.

Seeing his reluctance, the New Architect continued. "I can use other methods," he added, "like what you did to me in the Old Universe. I can easily remake the Old One's clock prison, and force you to tell me, but I do not wish to do that. But if you do not comply, I may resort to it."

He could see now that there was no way out. Lord Sunday's shoulders slumped as he understood this fact, and his eyes lost their light. Submitting to this...being...was the last thing he wanted to do. "Fine," he spat reluctantly.

"I will also cure you of your sin of Pride," the New Architect added, almost as an afterthought.

"Pride is not a sin," Lord Sunday said immediately. "Greed and Gluttony and Sloth, yes, but not Pride. Is it wrong to be satisfied with what you have accomplished? Is it wrong to feel confident when you are certain to succeed? It is no sin."

"Perhaps you will think differently when you are no longer under its influence," the other said. "But come, we must meet the others. You will not have to begin work immediately – I will give you a few days rest."

"The others," Sunday repeated suspiciously. "Who else have you brought back?"

"Only Leaf, Suzy, Fred, Doctor Scamandros and Giac as of now. Leaf has returned to the Secondary Realms, and the rest will help me design the new Denizens. I have told them to retreat some distance away in case you had decided to do anything rash." He snapped his fingers, and a spark of light appeared high above in the air, flashing three times before disappearing. "That was the signal. They should be coming soon."

As he spoke, several figures appeared on the horizon, approaching far too fast to be on foot. As they came closer, Sunday could tell that they indeed were winged figures – two Denizens and two of the Piper's children. In a surprisingly short amount of time, they reached Elysium.

"Yo, Art!" Suzy said, touching down less than smoothly. "So you got Sunday, eh? Did 'e resist or nothing?"

"Not physically," the New Architect replied, nodding a greeting to the others. "How goes the designing, Doc?"

"Oh, quite well, to be frank," Doctor Scamandros said. "We have decided to keep them fairly similar in appearance to the original Denizens, as there was not much harm and they seemed in order anyway."

"I still think," Giac interrupted, "we should've given them those long noses and thick eyebrows and maybe only one eye..."

"Way too tall," Suzy muttered.

Dr Scamandros tried his best to persevere despite the distractions. "We have, however, decided to increase their intelligence by a small percentage, which would, if I may say so myself, allow enough brain capacity to..._multitask. _Of course, the higher the precedence, the more intelligent they will be."

"I see. And have you divided the positions amongst yourselves?"

"I _told_ you," Suzy complained, "that I wanted to be Lady Sunday!"

"It was an unfortunate turn of events that made me reconsider," the New Architect sighed. "I apologize."

Suzy huffed. "Well, anyway, I'm Lady Saturday now, kay? None of that 'superior' stuff, that ain't my type."

"I know you said you were going to recreate the Front Door, Art," Fred put in, "but I've been thinking about it, and...Well, I do suppose it would be rather nice being Lieutenant Keeper, but honestly it's rather boring being stuck in the Front Door. And I suppose nobody will come and visit me anyway, being so busy as you will. And I'd like to visit the Secondary Realms once in a while too..."

"Will Saturday's Noon suit you?" the New Architect asked, picking up on the hint.

Fred's eyes lit up. "Oh, that'd be nice!"

"What say you, Suzy?"

"It's Lady Saturday now," Suzy grinned, "but yeah, orright! Why not? And I suppose Doc and Giac'll be my Dawn and Dusk?"

"If they wish," the New Architect answered.

"Oh! Dawn, please!" Giac said excitedly. "You know, in all my life as a Sorcerous Supernumerary, I _never_ thought I'd actually ever be promoted to one of the Superior Denizens! Oh this best day of my life!"

Dr. Scamandros, likewise, seemed to be rather pleased with this arrangement. "A very fine choice indeed, Lord Art, Lady Suzy. I shall be happy to serve to the best of my ability as Saturday's Dusk."

The New Architect smiled.

"And the rest of the Morrow Days?" asked Lord Sunday, who had so far not been participating in said discussion. Although he deemed the affairs of those around him inferior and trifling, and certainly would not have considered them important enough to grace them with his presence, he could not quell his own growing sense of curiosity.

"We shall have to see as time passes," the New Architect replied. "Speaking of which, I do believe it is time to move the sun and allow it to set. Doctor Scamandros..."

"Immediately, Lord Art!" Scamandros replied enthusiastically, and allowed his wings to lift him away.

"Meet us for dinner!" Suzy yelled, and the New Architect's eyes alone could detect a faint nod from the newly appointed Saturday's Dusk.

* * *

**A/N:** Uh. I was probably OOC for Scamandros and Suzy, but I tried, right? I love writing Denizens. (You should all try it)

Next chapter will be coming...soon-ish? xD

(I honestly don't expect too many people to read this, so if you do, please leave a review telling me? As in: REVIEW ALREADY! xDD)

~CC


	2. Rain

**A/N:** As I have been unable to think of a suitable plot, I have decided instead not to have one ^^ So it's going to be various snapshots of Sunday's life in the New Universe. I'm mainly writing this for my own amusement so it's going to go on until I think I should end it.

* * *

It was raining.

The whole notion of rain in the Incomparable Gardens was ridiculous. Apparently the New Architect decided rain would be easier than watering the plants manually. Did he not know that each variety of plants had different preferences about the amount of water they received? Doing it this way was sure to increase disaster.

Lord Sunday scowled as a particularly large drop splattered onto his neck, and slid gently down underneath his shirt. He would have shivered if he was a mortal, but he certainly was not, and so ignored the annoying distraction.

His sleek, dark hair was already soaked, sticking to his head and the wet clumps dropping gracefully over his eyes. Though it might look elegant to any passersby, of whom there were none, Lord Sunday certainly did not feel elegant and proceeded to brush it out of his eyes with a pale hand. His emerald green tailcoat and dark breeches were admittedly also wet and clinging to him, though he barely felt uncomfortable. At least his socks were dry, protected by his black leather boots.

Breathing out a barely audible sigh, Lord Sunday took a few steps forward. They had already recreated his favourite place and his own former dwellings, a majestic European 19th century castle with an immaculate lawn and a thick row of flowers, shrubs, hedges, vines and low trees serving as a fence. Closer to the building were a series of tall pine trees, each exactly alike, having being shaped by the Seventh Key in the Old Universe. There were gaps perfectly positioned, however, as to allow light to enter via large windows of similar sizes and shapes.

The entire block of land was on the flat summit of the tallest hill, and if one were to look from far away, they could only make out through the trees the pinnacles of the towers.

The garden, for lack of better word, stretched for many acres, and was a dense jungle of tall, proud trees which shielded the light from the secretly growing mosses, ferns and vines below. Each competed with the other for height in some areas, and in others they simply fell away into clearings. There were streams and rivers even natural waterfalls, as well as signs of Denizen life, such as huge fountains and lights along the worn path, which would light up at night in a wide array of colours and flash brilliantly.

It was certainly a stunning sight.

But Lord Sunday certainly had no mind as of now to see such a sight. He turned from his residence and looked down at the vast expanse of the Incomparable Gardens. The Elysium looked as before, and temporary houses had been set up for the New Architect and his few followers, who were currently recreating the Upper House. Apart from that, it was simply a prairie as far as his eye could see.

It surprised and pained him that he had, technically, only been alive for one day. The day before, after dusk, the New Architect had allowed him temporary reign over the Seventh Key, allowing him power to reshape the Incomparable Gardens as it was before. Lord Sunday frowned slightly. _Temporary_ reign. The Key was not his as of yet, only a loaned item which, given to him, would save the New Architect from much work there was to be done in the House.

Nonetheless, he had taken the Key and had immediately shaped his own residence, exactly as he remembered it. He would be given today and the day after to rest, and then his work would begin.

Rest from what, exactly? He was not tired, nor did he need to recuperate from shock, injuries, or physical limitations of any kind. So unless the New Architect was giving him time to become accustomed to his failure, there was really no need for such time.

But perhaps it was customary to do so, and it was an opportunity to think by himself at the least.

The rain was coming down harder now, but he paid it no mind. It was quiet and peaceful at any rate, and it had been too long since he had experienced the phenomenon.

Ah, but he had only been alive for a day.

Sunday's scowled deepened and he ignored that thought. He had _not_ been alive for a day. He had been alive for millennia and eons, so long that time had almost ceased to exist. His memories were ancient and wise, and such a ridiculous thing as being recreated would not change this fact. Regardless of his Key, his domain, his pride,—here, he cringed inwardly—he was still Lord Sunday.

But Lord Sunday had failed.

Gritting his teeth, he turned himself away from that line of thought and tried to think of more brightening thoughts, something he had become reasonable at over the last few hours, which was an incredibly short time for a Denizen.

Without conscious direction, his hand crept up to the Seventh Key on a chain around his neck and caressed over its shape, feeling every bump and corner and running over the smooth, flawless edges. At the same time he felt power fill him, the same one which lit up the sky and split the earth and manipulated the elements so easily.

And yet now Sunday had to remind himself that this power was no longer his. The acknowledgement came with a surprising pang of sadness and disbelief. He could use it, yes. He could harness it, yes. But it was not his to keep, and he had to bite his lip to stop himself from destroying the things he had just created.

It would not do to get angry now – it would not serve any good.

"Lord Sunday," a voice behind him interrupted.

Sunday spun on his heel, thinking it was ironic that the New Architect had chosen to keep his title, yet nothing else, and seeing none other than the devil in question. "What do you want?" He hadn't even heard him arrive, although that was most likely because of the nature of the Improbable Stair. It had been the Old Architect's favourite method of transportation, after all. Why should it not be the new one's?

The Old Architect. Sunday felt anger course through him again. His own mother, who had left him to die, who had left _everyone_ in the House today die for her own selfish wishes. Who had manipulated the Trustees and twisted their natures so that they were almost unrecognisable to themselves. Who had destroyed this world and took everything he held dear away from him...

Lord Sunday recalled a time before that, when the Trustees lived in peace and the House was governed strategically and normally. It had been a beautiful age back then, when they regularly met for meetings and discussed better ways to improve the House.

"You are rid of it," the New Architect said quietly.

Sunday, having almost forgotten the presence of the other, frowned. "Rid of what?" he spat.

"The Sin of Pride."

"T-The...you did that?"

"Yes," the New Architect sighed. "I thought, on the urging of Suzy, that it would be more beneficial for me to remove that from you now, and to have you assist more willingly in our work, than later. Was I wrong?"

Lord Sunday didn't answer.

"Shall I leave you to it?" the New Architect asked.

"No," he said with finality. "Tell me...what do you know of the time before the Will?" It was a strange question, but it had to be asked.

The New Architect looked taken aback at the question. He thought for a while. "Not much," he admitted. "I have no memories of a time before that. Indeed, I had thought the Will was imprisoned for millennia."

"It was. But as we have lived for more than millennia, it is not the start of time, and seeing as it was not, there would be something before that."

"And that would be?"

Lord Sunday regarded him coldly. "I have no mind to tell you."

He saw the New Architect stiffen and felt the firmness in his unwavering gaze, and he smirked at the thought that he, at least, knew of History much better than anyone else in this House. And it would remain that way.

"I would have thought," the New Architect said coolly, "that ridding you of that Deadly Sin would have made you more...compliant. I see that is not the case."

"Do you honestly believe that Pride made up my entire being?" Lord Sunday snapped. "I have a personality without it too, _New Architect_, and it would certainly not be in your best interests to rid me of what little control I still possess."

Another silence filled the blanks for a moment, the only sound being the drops of rain which, Sunday realized, had finally begun abating.

The New Architect sighed again. "Will you walk with me, Lord Sunday?" he asked politely. "Things such as this can wait until another time. You can tell me what you wish for your Times to look and act like, so I can create them according to your wishes."

"I already told you, the old ones were fine!"

"_Not_ green!" the New Architect hissed, although Sunday could not see what green Denizens could have possibly done to him. "Why do you insist on having Denizens mimic a tree's appearance?"

"Have you not realized that plants often adapt better than Denizens? My Times have all of the strength of the plants, and none of their weaknesses."

"Was it really necessary to have them green-skinned? They look like aliens!"

Lord Sunday stared at him, uncomprehending. "Which are what?" he prompted.

The New Architect bit his lip, surprised at this slip of information. "Nothing," he brushed it off. "It was simply something which should have went with my...which should not have come up at all." Of course, he had not mentioned to Sunday about Arthur Penhaligon, but there was no need to and it would complicate matters further. But Lord Sunday guessed enough.

"Something from the Secondary Realms again?" he asked with contempt. "I do not see how that place could possibly attract anyone."

"Perhaps not, with your attention trained on your Gardens," the New Architect replied. "But for others who have nothing else to preoccupy their time with apart from their duties, it would be inevitable that they sneak out once in a while."

"Perhaps that is true to the Denizens of the rest of the House, but none of mine. And as such, I simply do not care."

"But you asked," the New Architect pointed out.

Sunday frowned, and then reluctantly admitted he was right. Willing to turn the subject away from the Secondary Realms, for they held no interest for him, he asked, "How is the rest of the House?"

"The Lower and Upper House have already been built, if not populated. As of now, we are working on the Great Maze. Admittedly the machinery in there is rather complex, but it should easily be up soon."

"How soon?" prompted Sunday.

"Soon enough," the New Architect said dismissively.

Lord Sunday glared at him. The New Architect sighed. "It is going to take a long time," he murmured.

"I thank you," Sunday said rather suddenly, "for bringing me back. There was no need to, and there would be much less work for you had you not. I do not believe your excuse about the Incomparable Gardens – surely that was a minor point which impacted slightly your decision."

The New Architect caught the hint. "I told you before, though you did not believe me. You deserved another chance. Everyone does. And you were only fighting for your own survival – I see nothing wrong in that."

Sunday frowned. "You feel sorry for me?" There was no answer, so he continued. "I had once thought that the other Trustees could stop you, that there was no need for me to raise my hand. I was wrong – I underestimated the Architect's Will. My own mother, who tried to kill us all. She poisoned us with the Sins; she neglected us in her arrogance; and she destroyed everything we held dear."

"You speak for many people," the New Architect said pointedly.

"The Trustees!" Lord Sunday hissed. "They were Denizens once too, grateful for life and unwilling to relinquish it. And look what the Architect turned them into! You gave me another chance, why not them too?"

"I plan to. I will remake them, despite the Atlas not having recorded them. They will be remade from memory."

"Your memory is not enough," he snapped. "How can you even try to create them again when you have no idea how they used to be? Even if you had me to advise you, which I may or may not do, you would still be unable to create them perfectly. You are incompetent, New Architect, and you know so."

Once again, the other did not reply. Instead, he turned away and ran his eyes over the majestic castle just created, listening to the sound of rain and relishing every drop. He held the silence for so long that Sunday almost believed he wasn't going to reply.

"What are you unsatisfied with?" the New Architect asked, voice quite steady. "I have given you your life, your Key and your Domain. What else do you ask of me?"

"You know you have given me none of those. They are merely on loan, as is my pride."

"You want me to give you permanent power to the Seventh Key? I will give that to you." With a curt nod, power flooded into the Seventh Key on the chain around Lord Sunday's neck. "I relinquish hold of the Seventh Key. Are you satisfied?"

"The Seventh Key cannot Create, only copy," Lord Sunday replied.

The New Architect's eyes widened. "You wish for power to Create?"

"Not power, perse, but creativity."

There was a brief pause as the other considered his request. "I shall give you both," the New Architect announced with a brief smile – the first one Sunday had seen. "But not right now," he added. "There are many things needing to be tended to, and this rain must be stopped. It may drown the plants."

As Lord Sunday rolled his eyes, the New Architect stepped forward and disappeared.

* * *

**A/N:** As I said, writing this for my own enjoyment, so I apologize for any OOC/boringness. But this chapter was needed.

Review? ^^

~CC


	3. Imperfection

**A/N:** I would like to thank my patient, kind and awesome readers for being so patient xD If my writing style has changed within the days I haven't updated, I apologize. And I hope you find the things at the end of the chapter IC, because...I don't know, I can imagine him doing it. (Oh, and I rather like my Times)

I think I may have an inkling of a plot.

* * *

_To my Anon reviewers:_

_JJ: Hmm, that would be very interesting xDD But unfortunately I have a strict policy of no OCs OTL And it's not like Sunday ever goes out to the Secondary Realms anyway, so he really can't meet anyone xD Thanks though!_

_SuzyTB: I'm glad you like it ^^ Thanks!  
_

* * *

There was a knock at the door.

Lord Sunday did not look up from his position in the room – bent over an important document allegedly essential to the rebuilding of the House. With his right hand, he absently brushed the Seventh Key, at the same time perceiving who it was outside the room – and they had just knocked again. From the Key, he could sense that there were three of them, and they were Denizens.

"Enter," he said coldly, though relieved to have an excuse to stop reading the document, if only for a moment.

The door opened without a sound to reveal three Denizens – two male and one female. None were out of the ordinary, either in height or appearance. They bowed simultaneously, and the middle one spoke. "Lord Sunday," he said, "Master of the Incomparable Gardens. The Architect has sent the three of us to be your new Dawn, Noon and Dusk."

It was unfortunate that none of them were green.

"And has he appointed your positions already?" asked Sunday.

"No, Master," the same Denizen spoke. "The Architect was content to let you assign us, as we would be working under you." He gave another low bow.

Sunday nodded at him. "Noon," he said, then turned to the woman. "Dawn. And you shall be Dusk."

"Thank you, Master," they chorused, bowing once more. Sunday nodded curtly. As they rose up, Noon's stature grew taller and as he spoke, his silver tongue flicked in and out of sight. Dawn and Dusk, likewise, was taller than before – several inches taller now than the average Denizen.

"What would you have us do now, Master?" Dusk asked quietly.

Sunday waved a hand, focusing his attention back onto the document on his desk. "Prepare tea, Noon," he said vaguely. "Dawn, move the Sun, then tend to the plants in Bed 59, Pots 50 – 100. Dusk, water the plants in Bed 14, Pots 1 – 10."

"Yes, Master." Each bowed, and left.

As the door shut, Lord Sunday closed his eyes and breathed a sigh. He almost instinctively rested his hands on the Seventh Key, caressing its smoothed edges and assuring himself that his new Times of Day were going about the work he had ordered. The majority of the Incomparable Gardens had been recreated, and there was a little had would have to create this afternoon. Of the rest of the House, only the Upper House, the Middle House and the Great Maze had been yet created, and not yet populated. Though he could not say that the New Architect was wise in his choice of Denizens, he could at least say that he worked quickly.

He turned his mind back to the document, but could no longer keep his eyes on it. His thoughts strayed to the Old Universe, and his fellow Trustees before the accursed Will had came. That was a golden time of peace, of governing quietly and amicably without oppression. The Denizens did as they were told and the plants thrived. But now it did not seem like he could go back to that ever again.

Because the New Universe felt different. It felt cold and lonely and desolate and not at all filled with the warm and familiarity of the Old Universe. The Seventh Key was with him, and that alone felt unchanged – perhaps because it had not been recreated, simply brought through the Nothing. In time, Sunday knew, he would get to understand and adapt to this New Universe, but that time was still far off.

But he could have done nothing about it. The circumstances were out of his control—and yet when had _anything_ been out of Lord Sunday's control? The more he considered it, the less sense it made.

A knock came from the door. "Tea is ready, sir," came his new Noon's smooth voice.

Sunday's eyes narrowed. An interruption at the worst time possible. Noon possibly would not enjoy the privileges of his job for long. "Enter," he said for the second time that day, and made a show of reading the document while Noon came in and poured the tea and bowed, waiting for further orders.

Too much bowing, Sunday thought, and mentally noted to complain to the New Architect about that. Noticing Noon was still there, he gave another sigh. "Assist Dawn."

With a "Yes, Master," Noon left.

-xox-

"What do you think of your new Times?" asked the New Architect suddenly.

Sunday's brow creased and he turned his head a fraction, catching sight of the New Architect out of the corner of his eyes. The Improbable Stair again; it seems like there is a definite similarity between the Old Architect and the New. "It is about time you made them," he replied.

"I was preoccupied," the New Architect said, brushing the fact aside, "and trying to consider the design of the Denizens. I spent three days perfecting your Times."

"They bow too much," snapped Lord Sunday, "and need to know what to do without being told."

"You wish for them to read minds?" asked the New Architect humorously. He smiled slightly at Sunday's glare. "I thought you would have liked for them to be more...obedient. I will change them or make new ones according to your wishes."

"Do not change them!" Sunday ordered. "They have their faults, as Denizens do. I do not want perfect beings to serve me."

"How wise," said the New Architect at length, "but I understand. Whom have you appointed the position of Noon?"

"The one who spoke the most confidently was Noon," said Sunday, "then I decided my Dawn and Dusk. Why do you care, anyway?"

"I am simply curious."

The Trustee sniffed disdainfully. "Then do not be," he said. "Shed those pitiful human instincts – they will do nothing but to hinder you."

"Pitiful?" frowned the New Architect. "I see we are still divided in opinion. I will come back at a later date; there are many things for me to do now." He turned his back, took a step, and was gone.

Lord Sunday resisted the urge to sigh for the third time that morning and turned back to his document. He had mercifully reached the end of it, and needed only to stamp it. So many other jobs required his attention: apparently the Lower House was still billing him for telephone calls in the Old Universe, though few Denizens apart from himself knew anything about such matters. His garden needed tending to and Dawn had moved the sun directly into his eyes.

Without even reading the stack of documents, Lord Sunday quickly stamped them all. With a lack of Denizens to send it to the New Architect, he would have to use one of his Times. He knew they were overworked already, but until the New Architect had the mind to create more, they would have to deal with it.

-xox-

Days faded into weeks; weeks faded into months. Gradually, the House was built up and populated with Denizens. He himself had ten thousand Denizens under his control. Sunday gave three thousand to each of his Times and left the last thousand to deal with the paperwork and other pleasantries of the lesser Domains. Then, at last, was he finally allowed to relax.

And yet, when Sunday did relax, he found it was not as peaceful as it had once been. His memory was imperfect, and the more he wandered around, the less the Incomparable Gardens resembled the original. And having created the entire area mere months ago, he was more familiar with this pseudo-Garden than he had been.

His Times did not understand. They went by their day-to-day duties obediently and did the tasks to perfection. Yet Lord Sunday no longer wanted perfection – he wanted the natural flaws and mistakes that came with all tasks. He found himself gritting his teeth every time Noon delivered the perfectly blended tea. He found himself sighing with frustration every time Dusk handed in the paperwork with fields all completed.

The only thing he still prided in perfection was his plants. They were thriving – as they should – and flowering and wilting at the right time. The shrubs and hedges were exactly trimmed to the specified height, and the Drasils dug their roots in firmly into the foundations of the House. The sunset against the nature and clouds looked spectacular, and that was how the days crawled past.

And as many more months passed, the New Architect had ceased to visit. His visits had become infrequent as time grew, and he now spent his time either in the Secondary Realms or in the Upper House. And though Lord Sunday did not mind in the least, he could not help but speculate on the thoughts of the other.

As weeks passed, Lord Sunday felt himself fingering the Seventh Key more, and playing with an idea in his mind. The New Architect would not be pleased, he knew, but since when had he cared about him?

It was then that he decided that he could endure this no longer.

On a morning which dawned fresh and pale, Lord Sunday stood on top of what used to be the Elysium and took a long glance around, admiring each and every new shoot, bud and flower. Then, with a wry smile and his hand firmly cupped around the Seventh Key, he called upon its power and nodded.

At once, dark storm clouds brewed in the young morning sky, obscuring the weak rays of the sun. So dark it was that it almost resembled night time. It began to rain, lightly at first, but growing heavier by the second. Lord Sunday paid no mind to the Denizens scrambling for cover, and instead willed the rain to rush down harder. As they came down towards him, they parted like he had an invisible barrier, and wet the grass in a circle around him.

Lightning lit up the spectacular stormy sky and thunder roared mightily from its place above. The winds picked up, playing with his dark hair and ripping at his clothes. As lightning flashed through the sky, it began to hail. The winds continued to race at breakneck speeds and the temperature dropped drastically. Lightning, thunder, hail and rain – the elements poured themselves from the sky. In the distance, a tornado formed, dark and ominous against the storm. It stirred cloud and dust and slowly began moving, eating everything in its wake.

With a flash of lightning, a segment of the Gardens caught alight and the fire spread, fuelled on by the Lord of the Incomparable Gardens. At his command, a tidal wave rose from the navigable waters and swept over the land, drowning crops, flowers and trees with its ruthless hand. He called a typhoon, and simply watched as the disasters slowly but steadily destroyed everything he had worked to create.

Lord Sunday did nothing but watch for a quarter of an hour.

And eventually he calmed the ocean, smothered the fire and checked the sky, so that peace spread over the lands once more.

* * *

**A/N:** I hope you guys find that acceptable xDD Because the plot bunny just jumped into my mind and I have to write it. Do you think Sunday's character development is too sudden?

Any constructive criticism/general comments/thoughts on the Times?

You know what to do ^^ (Review!)

~CC


	4. How philosophical

**A/N:** At last, the long-awaited (what long awaited?) chapter of...stuff? Ehehe...I apologize for the time taken OTL My writing style seems to have fluctuated again.

Anyway! I found a Beta! ^^ Eternal thanks to _iDestiny_ for agreeing to beta 8D Three cheers, she's so awesome! *three cheers later* Right, on with the story?

* * *

A wry smile made its way onto his face as he surveyed the damage his Gardens had suffered. The sky was still blue, the sun still shining as brightly as it had been. There was still green, though now little order and plants were lying haphazardly around the place. The few trees that were standing looked tired and spent, frantically digging their roots into the firm soil. To an outsider, it was the Incomparable Gardens no more. But to Lord Sunday, it looked better than it had ever looked before.

It now truly reflected him. In a sense.

Hurried Denizens began scrambling up to what used to be the Elysium. There was a lot of chatter, an abundance of questions and plenty of movement. Dodging questions such as 'My Lord, why did you do that?' he smoothly walked down the hill and set about wandering the disaster-struck gardens on foot.

Presently, the sound of wings made itself known, and Lord Sunday glanced up briefly to find his Noon flying towards him on a giant dragonfly. He stopped in his tracks and patiently waited. With all the speed he could, Noon descended from the dragonfly, dismissed it, and then approached Sunday.

"May I join you, Master?" he asked.

Sunday pretended to consider for a moment. "You may," he said at length, "but do you not have duties to do, Noon?"

"I do," replied Noon smoothly, "but do you not also have work which requires your attention? Surely the necessary work of a Trustee outstrips the importance of the work of a simple Time of Day?"

Lord Sunday smirked. "Indeed. There is no harm in a simple stroll if the work is completed at its due time."

"But this is not a simple stroll, is it?"

"It is not quite."

When Lord Sunday did not continue, his Noon stayed silent. They resumed walking, occasionally stopping to observe the damage of the storm. Sunday often bent down to examine the leaves of many plants, sometimes lingering for several minutes before standing up and walking off once more. Each time this happened, Noon remained behind and waited obediently. Neither of them broke the silence. It was only the external sounds of reconstruction that interrupted the quietude.

All around them, the clatter could be heard, a Denizen rebuilding a blown-down shed or cleaning the fallen leaves. Very few of them noticed Lord Sunday or his Time. Dawn has temporarily assumed control over the Gardens and Dusk, with a pair of dark wings, was flying around in case anyone looked for assistance.

"May I ask, Master, why you did that?" asked Noon, breaking the silence. It was a question he had wished to ask at first, but had been waiting for the right time.

Lord Sunday did not answer immediately, but kept walking. "The Incomparable Gardens are beautiful," he said, "but that beauty is not natural. It is artificial and _made_, simply maintained by our efforts. It lacks a sense of… the natural."

"Naturality is not always the best," advised Noon.

"So I used to think, long ago."

Noon frowned slightly. "Long ago, sir? The House has just been created, and it has hardly been a long time—"

"Did the New Architect not tell you of this?" interrupted Sunday, frowning slightly.

"Of what, Master? The Architect has told us what we needed to know."

"No, it is nothing." It was probably better this way; the Denizens themselves would be able to start anew, and the Architect's mistakes—for they were not the fault of the Trustees: rather of Her betrayals—could be wiped clean. Now, there were only a few beings who remembered the history of the Old Universe. "Tell me, Noon. What do Denizens of the House call the Piper's Children now?"

"Piper's Children are called exactly that," replied Noon. Then, in an attempt to change the subject, he turned his eyes to the garden. "Do you wish for us to fix the Incomparable Gardens, or do you wish for us to leave it as it is?"

There was another long silence. "Fix it," he said. "Naturality is not bad, but occasionally we must intervene. Noon, take command of Beds 1 to 100. Dawn and Dusk seem to need a little help."

Noon lingered, unwilling to leave. At last he seemed to make up his mind and bowed. "Of course, sir."

-xox-

Paperwork flooded in from various parts of the House. Dusk was forced to sort through it, separating any actual paperwork from anything related to damage of the Gardens. The actual paperwork was split between the Times and Sunday and anything related to the damage was burnt or shredded.

Eventually, the Gardens were built back up. Step by step, over the weeks that passed, it came to resemble almost what it had used to be. The fallen leaves, branches and boughs were taken and disposed of and the houses that had suffered damage were built back up. The sun still rose and set at the same time and life continued on as usual.

Lord Sunday refrained from using his Key or any other form of sorcery on the Gardens. He spent his days wandering in his domain, occasionally helping with the repairs. More often than not he walked in the disguise of an ordinary Denizen. The day's routine settled down. It was peaceful.

So Lord Sunday was genuinely surprised when the Architect turned up one day, looking like a stranger in his new clothes. Baggy and ripped jeans, leather jacket and secondary-realm obtained sunglasses, he looked incredibly _mortal_. Sunday pointed this out.

The New Architect shrugged. "The House needs a little brightening up."

"So you do not wish to keep the Old ways?"

"The essentials will be kept. But wearing the same thing and doing the same actions every day is dull and repetitive, particularly after many a millennia. Do you not agree?"

"The difference between mortals and Denizens remains all too apparent," he said coldly. "You do not belong here, Arthur Penhaligon. The Old Architect was not wise, at least, in this respect."

"The Old Architect made few mistakes," said the New Architect, "but the ones she made resulted in dire consequences. I am no longer the Arthur Penhaligon that yearned for mortality; that part of me currently resides in the Secondary Realms. Truth be told, I wished that none of this had happened and the seven Trustees could rule the House peacefully. But it is too late now, and nothing I could have done at the time would have made a difference. The reason I came was to ask why you have demolished the Incomparable Gardens. Are they not to your taste? I will—"

"They _are_ to my liking," Lord Sunday interrupted.

"Then why did you destroy it?"

"Because..." He fell silent. The New Architect nodded. "Because," Lord Sunday began again, "it was too orderly. Too neat. Perhaps… it is better to let nature take its course."

"How wise," smirked the New Architect.

Sunday glared at him.

"Anyway. There is slightly more pressing news. The other Morrow Days—" At Sunday's surprised look, he sighed. "The other Morrow Days wish to meet you. I will arrange a meeting this century. Which dates are you free?"

"None of them," snapped Sunday.

"This matter is unavoidable," the New Architect said pointedly.

"Fine. Noon!" The door opened to reveal the Superior Denizen, who bowed twice briefly—once to his Master and once to the Architect.

"You called, Master?" Noon asked.

"Yes. The New Architect wishes to arrange a meeting this century. When is the best date?"

Noon took out a clipboard with papers attached and flicked through the papers, eyes darting around. From time to time he paused, noting down items before continuing. "Thirty six months and twenty nine days from now?" he asked.

"Far too soon," said Sunday.

"A hundred and ninety four months and twelve days?"

"Too soon."

"Four hundred and seventy three months and nine days."

"...Very well," Sunday conceded. "Does that suit you, Architect?"

The New Architect surveyed him over his sunglasses. "I must check with the other Morrow Days. They request that you modify the Incomparable Gardens so that it is more accessible: at the very least by mail."

"I will consider it," Sunday said coldly. "I will answer next millennia."

The New Architect quickly hid his look of exasperation. "If you can answer sooner, that would be appreciated," he said. "Meanwhile, there are other pressing matters. I will see you again when time allows."

And he was gone, the Improbable Stair already fading in the morning light.

"I think," Sunday said to himself quietly, "I liked it better when the rest of the Trustees were too preoccupied with their Sins to bother me."

"What was that, Master?" Noon said.

Sunday glanced up at him. "Nothing."

-xox-

Years passed in the blink of an eye, and all thoughts of the encounter had vanished. It was only the little scribble in Noon's notes that reminded anyone of the meeting. So it came as a surprise when exactly four hundred and seventy three months and eight days later, Noon knocked on the door and informed Sunday of the meeting scheduled tomorrow.

"What meeting?" asked Sunday, sharply.

Noon shrugged. "It was written here, Sir. It says _'Meeting with the rest of the Morrow Days and the Architect. Meet in Monday's Dayroom. Arrive promptly at nine o'clock'._"

Lord Sunday sounded resigned. "Tell Dawn and Dusk the three of you are to accompany me. My Times generally accompany me to meetings," he added at Noon's blank stare, preferring not to admit that his memory of that event was perfect.

The Denizen quickly rearranged his features and exited. "Of course, Sir."

With the coming of silence, Lord Sunday's hand clasped around the Seventh Key. It had been a long time since he had last had a need to use it, but it had always been there when he had wanted it. It was the strongest, always the paramount—it was _his_ Key. With it he could sense every single Denizen working in his Gardens. He could sense Noon's conversation with Dawn, and that Dusk had gone to move the sun for the last time that day. He could sense that Denizens were trimming the row of Wollemi Pines in Bed 19, Row 105. He could sense which plants needed water and which had too much and how well the Drasil trees were growing.

He had spent many millennia taking this power for granted. But now that he had lost it once, he would not risk losing it again.

Lord Sunday closed his eyes and breathed a long sigh. He needed more tea.

-xox-

"You are not required to speak," Lord Sunday said on the morning of the next day. "You are forbidden from arguing. You may write down your personal opinion and confide with me later, speak only if you have no other choice at the meeting. Understood?"

"Yes sir," said his Times.

"Follow me, then." Keeping a firm hold of the Seventh Key, he stepped forward and out of sight. The only thing that remained was a bright shining block. Quickly, Noon entered, followed by Dawn and Dusk. The light faded and the Stair closed.

The meeting room came into sight. Lord Sunday stepped off the Stair to find the room almost full. Eight chairs stood in a circle and six of them were already occupied. Reluctantly, Sunday took his respective seat, feeling the eyes of the other Morrow Days trained on him.

"So _this_ is Lord Sunday!" said a lady whom he guessed to be Wednesday. "It might do to meet your fellow Trustees once in a while and avoid being cooped up in your Gardens, despite their alleged beauty."

Sunday made no reply. His Dawn, however, glowered angrily in her direction, but remembering her instructions, she stayed silent. Wednesday's Noon glared back. Turning to Lady Saturday—formerly Suzy Turquoise Blue, Lord Sunday reluctantly inclined his head. "Is there any particular purpose to this meeting?"

Suzy laughed as her Times bowed. "Well, Art just wanted to 'ave everyone meet up formally. 'S a bit of fun, actually. And Art wanted to address the problems and all with the 'ouse."

"This is a waste of time," Sunday snapped.

Suzy shrugged. "Well, there are several complaints directed atyou, Sunday. Probably would've been better if you let me take the position." By now, Sunday's glare was malicious. She grinned. "Fine, whatever. Suit yourself."

The New Architect had not yet arrived. When a small block of the room began lighting up, the chatter fell to an expectant hush as the New Architect stepped out, wearing a suit. "Welcome to the first meeting of the House, Morrow Days," he said, taking the only unoccupied seat around the table. "I do not believe you are all accustomed with each other. I am the Architect of the Universe."

There was a stiff silence as the Architect waited. Suzy grinned. "I'm Lady Saturday! It's nice to meet you all!"

Slowly, the rest of the Trustees—Sunday included, albeit reluctantly—introduced themselves. When they finished, the New Architect smiled. "Now that we have formally met, we shall commence the meeting."

* * *

**A/N:** I tried, okay? I tried xDD Btw, any tips or suggestions on how the Trustees/Times should act can totally be sent in ^^

So...*subtly hints towards the review button* Yes?

~CC


	5. The Meeting

**A/N:** Hello guys! I am very, very sorry for the long gap in between updates. I had this written a few weeks ago, but there were some technical difficulties between _my beta iDestiny _(three cheers for her! YAYYYY!) and I, and as a result it was published a bit later. I am very sorry. -bows-

* * *

It appeared, thought Lord Sunday, that complaints were largely directed at him. And it also seemed that this meeting was composed of criticism; not discussion. He believed that the issue of the Incomparable Gardens was raised far more than necessary. Certainly, other topics were covered too (he briefly heard Thursday and Monday discussing the post and the disorganisation of the Lower House), but most of the time it was all directed at him. Sunday briefly debated whether this was the result of him neglecting meetings, reports, and smaller what-nots.

Suzy Turquoise Blue — Lady Saturday — brought up the necessity of a report every decade to the New Architect. It seemed to Sunday that he was the only one not submitting one. Then again, it was hardly needed for him. There will never be anything to report. He noted with curiosity that the New Architect had spoken little during the meeting; every topic of relevant to him was spoken by another Morrow Day.

Often, Sunday felt his Noon stir angrily behind him, but a sharp glance was enough to still his actions. He would not have his Times act rashly. It was a blow to his personal pride—which he still possessed to some extent. After shooting cold glares at Noon for the third time, Lord Sunday decided to actually listen to the buzz of conversation permeating the room.

"...tour," Wednesday was saying. "None of us, save the Architect, has even seen the Incomparable Gardens. I know for a fact there are Navigable Waters which once led to the Border Sea—" Here, the New Architect shuffled uncomfortably, but said nothing. "—but no more. I wish to inspect the condition of the Waters for the pollution of Nothing."

"The Drasil trees are invading the Great Maze," agreed Thursday. "They are knocking my tiles off their courses and generally disrupting the running of the Maze. As the training grounds of the Glorious Army of the Architect, it is absolutely vital they are quickly returned to working order."

"And that is a bad thing?" asked Lord Sunday coldly, aware of his Dawn scribbling furiously behind him. "I was not aware the Maze was ever capable of moving in a timely fashion anyway."

Suzy coughed pointedly. The New Architect shot him a glare. Thursday opened his mouth furiously to reply. His Times also looked flustered.

"Wait," interrupted Suzy, before yet another riot could break out. "What else is supposed ter 'old the Gardens up if it ain't trees?"

A stunned silence met her words. Suzy smirked. "Now we all know Gardens need to be natural, right? If we replaced the trees with mountains, would everyone be 'appy?"

"They'd take up more space," said Monday, after a brief pause.

"Exactly! So if it ain't mountains, it's gotta be trees, right?"

A couple mumbles of 'fine's and 'if you must's echoed around the room. Suzy smirked in a satisfied sort of way. Sunday could just feel the superior air radiating off his Noon. He decided to ignore it for now.

"But," said Wednesday again, to his annoyance, "I still wish to inspect the Navigable Waters."

"Are you implying that I am incapable of keeping my Waters clean?" Sunday growled. These Trustees were pathetic. He knew their motives, and he was not going to let a single one of them inside his domain.

"No, of course not," said Wednesday, now looking a little nervous. "But the Border Sea is my realm and I would be much more familiar with any sign of contamination."

Dawn was writing heatedly again. Sunday gave the Duchess a cold glare. "But my Navigable Waters are _not_ in your realm, are they, Lady Wednesday? And do you not believe that I, holding the paramount Seventh Key, am more than capable of ruling my own realm than you with your insignificant Third Key would be? Your pride is insufferable."

Wednesday fell silent. Sunday's Dusk snickered softly, but was quickly quietened by his sister.

The New Architect allowed the injured atmosphere to hang for a moment, before moving on. "If nobody has any more ... issues ... I would like to present a few suggestions of my own." He waved a hand, and a strange, rectangle-shaped item appeared in the corner. The New Architect pressed a button, and it seemed to turn itself on, startling the Trustees with the sudden colour, sound and imagery that appeared on the ... _thing._

Several things happened at once.

Suzy's eyes went as round as saucers, and her eyes were immediately glued. Lady Friday gasped "sorcery!" and backed away very quickly. Sir Thursday was stopped by his Noon from clobbering the thing with his Key. Lady Wednesday hid behind Grim Tuesday, and Mister Monday yawned.

"What," Lord Sunday deadpanned, "is that?"

"It is a television," said the New Architect proudly, "or a TV for short."

"Taken from the Secondary Realms, no doubt," said Monday disapprovingly. "But what _is_ it?"

"It's a ... machine," said the New Architect helpfully. "It takes radio waves and turns them into moving pictures. It has different channels, too." He pressed another button and the pictures changed.

"And why would we need this ... television?" asked Grim Tuesday.

"It's an excellent source of entertainment, but it can also be very informative. I would like one of these installed in every Control centre. As well as some of these." He waved his hand again, and more ... machines ... appeared. "That's a laptop," explained the New Architect, "that's an iPod, that's a cell phone, that's air conditioning, that's wireless internet, that's—"

"Enough!" snapped Sunday. His hand flew to the Seventh Key, and within seconds, the 'machines' of the Secondary Realm melted into Nothing, which he cast out into the Void. Suzy made a strangled noise. "We do not need any of those," he said coldly, looking around the room, glaring at anyone who looked like they wanted to protest. His gaze lingered on Suzy, before finally settling on the New Architect.

"Do not spread these ridiculous ideas stemmed from the Secondary Realms. We have no need of the _semblance _of sorcery. Now are there any _actual_ complaints, or can this ridiculous meeting be adjourned?"

When everyone else was too shocked to reply, Sunday stood up and opened the Improbable Stair. "Then I will take my leave," he said icily, stepping into the shining square. His Times followed, and almost immediately the Stair closed.

"Well," said Suzy, the first to recover from the shock, "that was an interestin' meeting."

-xox-

The Improbable Stair brought the Denizens to Sunday's Control room. The Times wasted no time in setting down their reports (no doubt filled with angry retorts for various Trustees) and hurrying out of the room with a low bow. It was obvious when Lord Sunday was not in a good mood, and none of them wanted to be dissolved into Nothing.

Lord Sunday himself let them leave, and sat down at his desk, surveying the stack of paperwork in front of him distastefully. As he pulled the first sheet of paper and started work, it occurred to him he should probably answer the New Architect's request about being mail-accessible. Sighing, he took a piece of parchment and began to write.

_To the Architect, Lady Saturday (formerly Suzy Turquoise Blue) or whoever lacks the intelligence required to avoid opening this letter,_

_I have decided, due to the preposterous meeting that has just taken place, I will most certainly veto the proposal that the Gardens be accessible by mail._

_Do not contact me unless it is unavoidable._

_-Lord Sunday_

Having finished the letter, he called to a Denizen, who immediately scuttled in.

"My Lord?" she asked, bowing low.

Sunday frowned in distaste, but said nothing about her behaviour. "Deliver this to the Architect," he said holding out the letter.

The Denizen took it reluctantly. "But, my Lord, where is the Architect?"

Lord Sunday shrugged. "It doesn't matter. Deliver it to Suz—Lady Saturday, if you must. It is not confidential."

The other swept another low bow and left, leaving him alone in the room once more.

Lord Sunday sighed, pushing away the paperwork to the corner of his table. He realized how much he missed the Old Universe, with all its imperfections. When the Trustees had laughed together before the time of the Will, and the Architect had mainly left them to their own devices. These new Trustees lacked the substance of the old, and even if the... New Architect was unaware of this. The New could never rival the Old.

He looked outside the window to see his beautiful Gardens, and the thousands of Denizens that worked on it. This part of the House, at least, had stayed the same—he had made sure of that. But the section of the House from the Lower House to the Upper House would unquestionably be changed. The New Architect's memories were not perfect, and he absolutely lacked memories pertaining to the House in the time before the Will.

He sighed once more and walked to the door, a pair of wings materialising the process. The pure white wings clipped themselves onto his back, and Sunday opened the door to find himself face to face with the New Architect.

"Where are you going?" asked the New Architect with an air of amusement, eyeing his wings. "I received your reply."

"You were standing outside the door all this time?" growled Sunday.

"Well, perhaps." The New Architect smiled.

"I am going to visit the Upper House," said Lord Sunday, after some hesitation, when the New Architect didn't care to explain. "What's so funny?"

"I have never seen you with wings, in all these centuries," was the amused response. "I thought you used nothing but the Improbable Stair."

"One tires of walking up and down stairs all millennia," said Sunday coldly.

"I am sure. What business pertains to you in the Upper House?"

Lord Sunday decided to tell the truth. Or at least, some of it. "To find Suzy Turquoise Blue," he said coldly, "and in turn, to find you. But I suppose there is no need now." With a touch of the Key, his wings disappeared. He had, of course, been wanting to talk to Lady Saturday about the tower she resided in. It had not been existed before the Will.

"You received my letter?" asked Sunday, blatantly.

"Yes," said the New Architect with a smile. "And I have a reply." He held out a letter, but did not let Sunday take it yet. "Keep in mind that this was not my idea."

The Lord of the Incomparable Gardens took the letter and opened it, eyes scanning the response. His frown deepened with every word; by the time he had finished reading he was practically scowling.

"The Court?" Sunday enquired.

"As I said, this was not my idea."

"I see that." His scowl deepened. "So Wednesday brought such a trivial matter to the Court. How long ago was this? 350 years ago. There are six seals. I suppose I _must_ concede defeat and allow the Incomparable Gardens to be accessible via mail?"

"Unless you can persuade three other Trustees to remove their seals, I'm afraid so," said the New Architect sympathetically.

Lord Sunday tossed the piece of parchment onto his table. "Very well," he said reluctantly. "But tell Lady Wednesday that if she so much as sends a single letter to me, I will be forced to declare war on the Border Sea."

"All this for a letter?"

"For coercion and wasting my time," snapped Sunday.

"And do you not consider that this is a fine example of blackmail?" the other asked.

He was met with Lord Sunday's cold, hard gaze. The New Architect sighed.

"Very well."

* * *

**A/N: **Any ideas or constructive criticism or review or anything would be appreciated! ^^

And I do promise to update quicker, I swear.

-CC


	6. The Secondary Realms

**A/N:** Hey guys! Sorry about the shortness of this one, but I kind of...hit a blank. Ahaha 8D Once more, thank you so much, _iDestiny_, for betaing ^-^ It means so much! And she corrected a lot of mistakes! (So round of applause, please?)

* * *

The first thing he realized was that there were many letters flooding in. He guessed it was because most of the Trustees had mailed letters in advance, hoping that a mailbox would be set up soon. Nonetheless, the first message he received was from Lady Wednesday.

Lord Sunday tossed the letter away without looking at it, and assigned Dawn to sort the junk from actual mail. He mentally noted to declare war on the Border Sea sometime within the next century.

It took several hours, but a small bundle of letters finally made it to him. Sunday saw, to his satisfaction, that none were from the Duchess of the Border Sea. There was one from Tuesday asking whether or not he would need telephone connections, one from Suzy Blue—ah, but she was Saturday now—_Saturday's _Noon inquiring of the use of elevators, one from Saturday's Dawn telling him to halt the constant downpour of rain...

Oh yes, the rain. He had forgotten about that. Not to mention whenever Saturday looked up...there was no need for that anymore.

Lord Sunday sighed and touched the Key. The clouds in the Upper House disappeared, to reveal the dazzling emerald floor of the Incomparable Gardens. The rain, too, faded away.

_I must remember to water the Drasils_, he thought absent-mindedly.

The last letter was from Saturday's Dusk. (Sunday briefly considered whether or not Saturday's Times were overworked, considering there were three letters to him in one day.) This one enquired as to whether or not he would like to take the records from the Upper House, since the Incomparable Gardens were the epicentre of all Creation and all that.

He sighed.

"Dusk! Collect some records from the Upper House." He paused for a moment. "On second thought, also collect some tea from the Border Sea. And tell Lady Wednesday to stop sending me junk mail. I am not sure if the Architect can be trusted with ... such matters."

Dusk, though looking surprised, bowed and left. Immediately after he left, Dawn came in with a strangely-shaped item wrapped in paper. It was huge—at least three feet wide. It couldn't have possibly have come in the mail.

"Lord Sunday," she said coolly, bowing and set down the odd-shaped _thing_. Despite its obvious weight, she seemed to have no trouble carrying it. "There has been a rather large item the Architect has sent you. We, ah, are not sure what it is."

"Did this come in the mail?" asked Sunday, raising an eyebrow.

"No, lord. It simply materialized when we were trying to sort out the letters."

He sighed resignedly. "You may leave it here."

When she left, Sunday took the liberty of unwrapping the paper. As he had expected, it was a small weird-looking machine from the Secondary Realms. A ... tee vee. Or something along those lines.

He had half a mind to call Dawn back again, to have her deliver it back. But since was there no return address, he had no idea where the Architect was. It would be better to be delivered to Lady Saturday.

Until he remembered it was too big to fit in the mail. And there were no elevators leading to the Gardens. He would have to deliver it personally. He quickly scribbled a note saying 'Return to sender', signed with an S, and stuck it to the TV.

_If this is the Architect's idea of making me socialize... it's working,_ Sunday thought with annoyance as he stepped onto the Improbable Stair, carrying the TV as if it were as light as a feather. _This object looks dangerous to the House. It should be removed as soon as possible. What interest does the Architect have in the Secondary Realms, anyway?_

His feet meeting the solid floor, Sunday set the television down and turned back to leave.

Until he realized that he was most certainly _not_ in the Upper House. In fact, he wasn't even in the House. His thoughts had carried him away and the Stair, doing what it did best, had deposited him in the Secondary Realms.

Right into the (new) living room of Arthur Penhaligon.

-xox-

Arthur Penhaligon never expected anything or anyone House-related to come knocking at his door again. After all, his adventures were over, weren't they? He had found the Will, battled the Trustees and seized the Keys and become...whatever he had became. The New Architect, or whatever it was. The disappearance of his mother served as a constant reminder.

He had no idea how he would explain that to his father and siblings. But he was told she had died from a 'mysterious illness', which was certainly better than the real turn of events. As for the missing living room...nobody could really explain that.

Since then, they had moved houses. The red lacquer box in his room had been pushed away into the deepest confinement of his drawers. There it sat, gathering dust.

So imagine his surprise when a ten-foot-tall Denizen materialized in his living room, carrying what looked like an LCD TV.

"Ah," said Lord Sunday, the surprise on his face quickly masked. "There may be...a problem." Calmly, he set the television down.

Arthur gaped. His words had died in his throat.

Sunday continued as if Arthur weren't there. "So this is why the New Architect was so fascinated with the Secondary Realms. Like the Old Architect and the Old One. Lacking wisdom."

The boy found his voice and somehow managed to stop gaping. "You—How—Lord Sunday!"

"Yes," said Sunday simply. His head brushed the roof, and he was thankful towards the designer of this house for the high ceiling. "I did not expect to come here, Arthur Penhaligon. But now that I have, I believe that an apology is in order."

"Apology?" asked Arthur incredulously. "From who?"

"You, of course," snapped Sunday. "I would never apologize to a mortal."

"Oh." He really should have expected as much. "So you admit you were at fault but you're not going to say sorry?"

"I simply wanted to garden," Sunday said coldly. "You, on the other hand, singlehandedly destroyed all of Creation save yourself. You were partially responsible for the murders of Mr. Monday, Grim Tuesday, Sir Thursday and Lady Friday."

"I'm not responsible!" protested Arthur, "How was I to know Dame Primus was killing them?"

"The Will cannot be trusted. You also caused the death of your own mother—"

"Because _you _kidnapped her!"

"If you had not claimed the Seventh Key, she would still be alive."

"How was I supposed to know—" began Arthur hotly.

"Enough!" said Sunday. "You will apologize, and in return, I will give you this pathetic excuse of technology that rightly belongs in the Secondary Realms and _not_ in the House." He gestured towards the television, which was lying on its side.

"This is ridiculous," sighed Arthur. "Go find the other half of me." Now he truly felt the pain of the Will—split in seven parts. How was one part supposed to find the other?

Sunday looked around, as if he expected to find half of Arthur's body lying around somewhere. When he evidently failed, he turned back to the boy and raised an eyebrow.

"I meant the Architect, or whatever I'm called," said Arthur.

Sunday scowled, but did not press him. Instead, he very wisely turned on his heels and sketched a stair with his finger, before stepping on and out of sight.

Behind him, Arthur Penhaligon breathed a sigh of relief.

_Strange..._

-xox-

Lord Sunday found a large quantity of mail waiting for him. Documents he had to sign, approvals he had to convey in writing (seeing as Saturday wasn't doing that for him anymore), forms he had to fill out, meetings he had to attend to.

His Times and their servants were also kept busy, running various errands throughout the House. In this fashion, news of the Incomparable Gardens was delivered to the various other demesnes. In fact, one Denizen (or a group) had even started publishing a magazine.

Sunday wondered at the effect the New Architect was having on Denizens, since they had begun to gain mortal habits. Even the expression of the Sorcerous Supernumeraries of Saturday's Noon lacked the depression he was so accustomed to seeing.

But as far as he could see, none of them were using the newfound 'technology' of the Secondary Realms. Denizens, remained Denizens, however much the universe changed.

It was a while later when his Dusk came in with a single letter, and an unusually grave expression.

"Lord Sunday."

He sighed and turned around. "Yes, Dusk?"

"There seems to be a ... request from the Court. It says the Incomparable Gardens should be opened for touring to the Trustees for educational purposes. It contains the seals of all 6 Trustees."

"_Educational_ purposes? They're several thousand years old!" Sunday snatched the sheet of paper off Dusk, and skimming it.

"No," he said firmly. "I do not care what the Court says. I will not be letting anyone inside my Gardens."

* * *

**A/N: **Review? ^^


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